


Interlude: Goatherd

by Espequair



Category: A Practical Guide to Evil - erraticerrata
Genre: Because we haven't had enough of her, Interlude, wargaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:47:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28932006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Espequair/pseuds/Espequair
Summary: o be read after the Book 6 Epilogue
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	Interlude: Goatherd

**Author's Note:**

> o be read after the Book 6 Epilogue

_“Preparing for an invasion? By the Gods, no, I am merely conducting a life-sized Shatranj tournament by the river!”_ \- Dread Emperor Irritant, in a missive to the Order of the White Hand weeks before his 7th (failed) invasion of Callow

Aisha tightened her cloak around her as she walked — traipsed, really — up the slope.

Even with the warmth of the evening sun that transformed the grassy foothills into fields of gold, the winds howling down the Greyfang Range chilled her to the bone. Still, she couldn't bear to be late and so picked up the pace to the silent exasperation of her Alamans companion. Burdened as he was with a week’s worth of food, he couldn’t match her speed and began to fall behind.

As the sun kept to its course, she neared the top of the hill and the small but sturdily built cottage atop it. Through the door left ajar, the warm light of a brazier shone, its heat felt even as she crossed the threshold. To describe the inside as austere would be wrong, Aisha felt; while the inside was squared away and relatively lacking in material comforts, it felt relatively crowded given the lack of space: three cots, two desks, a brasier, cookware and tall bookshelves straining under the weight of books. 

The Delosi _askretis_ carefully laid down his quill as a Proceran, Arlesite by the look of his hair, dropped the book he was reading to scramble to his feet and bow to Aisha.

“Lady Bishara,” he began in passable Lower Miezan “we weren’t expecting you so soon”

“There is news the Marshal must be kept apprised of.” The Tahgreb answered in the same, a slight frown on her face “Aren’t you supposed to be with her at all times? Where is she?”

The discomfort was obvious on the man’s face, as it should be. He had been tasked with looking over the recovering officer and scry back should her state deteriorate.

“The Marshal has taken to meditation behind the house and has forbidden us to intrude.” The Delosi, Areo, Aisha remembered, had a surprisingly delicate voice for someone of so large a frame.

While she kept her severe mien, Aisha nodded at the two men in understanding. Juniper might have suffered a deep wound from the Empress’ order, but even now she was still the Hellhound. Dropping her pack, she left the shelter to walk around the back, her breath catching as she caught sight of her friend. Gods Below but it hurt her to see the orc hunched over, her surprisingly delicate finger massaging her temples.

“I thought you’d promised me to take it easy?” Aisha asked, a note of disapproval in her voice. “Have you been… What have you been doing?” She wondered, looking at the figurines in the dirt in front of her friend. Too many pieces for Shatranj, too varied to be Baduk and it didn’t seem to conform to any sort of grid.

Moving to the side to leave some room on the stone slab that was serving as her bench, Juniper waved her arm at the space in front of her. “Don’t you recognize it?”

It took her a moment, but finally she saw it. “This is the Battle of the Camps,” the board was much larger than she’d first gathered, half a dozen feet long and double that in width. Something else had thrown her off though. “From the perspective of the Princes?”

Juniper nodded without a word, her eyes not leaving the figures arrayed in front of her. “It’s merely a game, you see? It doesn’t tire me as much as the rest does.”  
  
Aisha was unconvinced, but stayed silent. She’d done something very similar when writing about the battle in her memoirs, though on a smaller scale. “I thought you had already written about the Camps in your commentaries.”

“I have,” said the orc, rising to her feet to walk around the miniature battlefield in front of her. Her friend was still startled by the transformation that she had gone through, remembering with discomfort the weeks spent at her bedside, nursing her from a mumbling wreck to a shadow of what the Marshal of Callow had been, threatening her to stay in bed, bribing her with her own company.

While Juniper still looked tired, she’d regained that spark in her eyes Aisha never ceased to wonder at, a certain predatory instinct forged into a sharp blade by the War College.

“I have,” she continued, “but this isn’t about that, I am trying to formalize a system to allow anyone to go over the maneuvers themselves, a sandbox where they may try this or that. A wargame, since I’m to be cloistered in this goatherd’s hut. I’m hoping it could be used back at the College or...“ She didn’t continue, but Aisha knew. They’d both been close enough to Catherine to learn of her plans for Cardinal, for an academy elites from across the continent would attend.

If the prospect left Aisha with doubts, if other nations were instructed in the same style as the Legions, she was worried they would lose their competitive edge, Juniper clearly found the idea interesting. Not that Aisha could fault her for that; she’d seen how much the Order of the Broken Bells had brought each time Juniper had been allowed to use them.

“The Procerans had good ideas,” Juniper added, “and while their execution was somewhat lacking, it was sufficient to pull the plans they had.”

“Rare compliment, coming from you,” Aisha noted.

The orc shrugged. “They also had a lot of things wrong, which cost them men and ressources, even discounting the lake.”

“They were still beating us.”

“Yes, but we were about to sound the retreat,” Juniper explained, ”regroup, find a way to counter their tricks and come back cautiously. We would have taken losses but we would have come out on top of the two engagements. It’s basically what the lake allowed us to do.” She paused for a second, ”but if they hadn’t been so brash in going after us, they could have wiped us out that first time. The army that integrates priests, not in the ramshackle way we have in the north but trained alongside other officers, will have a chance to beat even what Lord Black and the Marshals have built”

Aisha rooted around the small box of figures, pulling out a piece of wood recognizable by the spear it was holding as one of the slave soldiers of Stygia. “You’re not limiting yourself to the priests”

Juniper didn’t deny that. “The Free Cities aren’t on the table right now, but if we can get some Helikean cataphracts as auxiliaries, Atalantean priests or even Delosi to free up War College trained officers currently wasted in staff roles…”

They stayed in silence a long moment looking at the playfield, Juniper occasionally standing up to move or add a figure.

As the sun started to dip below the horizon, Juniper finally remarked “You came up early.”  
  
“There has been news from the front, I figured I’d keep you apprised,” Aisha answered.

“Hainaut?” The Marshal asked, and her friend was thankful that she hadn’t brought up the fact that this could have been handled through scrying.

She shook her head. “Complete scrying blackout since before the battle. The siege should be over by now. They’ll likely send someone through the Twilight Ways to alert Salia when they can. But we have confirmation that the bridge over the Tomb was destroyed.”

Juniper barely reacted, though Aisha knew the signs: her friend’s shoulders had relaxed, her eyes had unfocused; she was going over the implications in her head. “If the Gigantes keep their word, we should have the Tomb warded soon. That’ll give us until next campaign season to consolidate, and we’ll need it. It’s going to be damn hard fighting ahead. If…” she trailed off.

Aisha put a hand on Juniper’s shoulder. “We’ll see then if you’re well enough, it’s likely we’ll be able to move further north, closer to one of the Arsenal entrances”

Standing back up, she slid her hand to the orc’s forearm, bracing herself. “Come on, let’s get inside before we get cold.” Juniper nodded and stood up with her help.  
  
Her eyes focused on something behind her and in a second, they stood side by side, Aisha with a short dagger, Juniper with a legion gladius that’d seemingly appeared in her hand. A soft shimmering of the air was the only hint that something was wrong, but it was enough: the Hierophant himself had laid wards on this hill, anyone able to see and break through was bad news. 

“Go get the others,” Juniper growled.  
  
Aisha didn’t move an inch. “If this is an agent of the Dead King, I doubt a Proceran mage is going to be able to help.” she answered, keeping quiet what followed: _If this is an agent of the Dead King, I’d rather be by your side._

Either seeing the sense in this or not willing to quarrel now, Juniper growled in assent and re-adjusted the grip on her sword.

As the sun fully set, the rip in reality opened, drawing a sigh of relief from Aisha: on the other side stood the tall, gaunt form of Masego. Nodding at both of them, he stepped aside. Aisha had to conceal a gasp: behind the mage stood Catherine, half her face bandaged, the other half white as a ghost; the way she casually leaned on Hakram didn’t fool either of them that she wasn’t being half held up by him.   
  
“Warlord”, barked Juniper, “you look like a Hell ran you over.”

While she privately agreed with her, Aisha cringed at the words, wondering how her etiquette tutors would have reacted to this statement. 

“Calumny”, the Black Queen answered, the merest shadow of a smile on her lips, “it was half a Hell at most.” She offered her forearm to the orc who clasped it vigorously.

“Marshal,” Catherine said, her tone now cold iron, ”I hope you’re ready, we are marching on Ater.”

Juniper’s face split in a feral grin

“Good, I have built you the army to do it”


End file.
